Chapter 4: Gaps Between the Scenes

Cora Glass had many fine qualities, but early rising had never been among them. It was far too early to be awake. Not yet light outside. She yawned and yearned for coffee.

She would buy some at the gate, she promised herself, as she gathered her belongings and re-checked the flight status on her phone.

Bora Bora - AF1685 - 8:48am - On Time / No gate assigned

She closed the door on her hotel room for the night, and her suitcase wheel clickety-clacked behind her as she headed for the elevators.

An odd sensation prickled Cora's scalp just then. She shuddered as she passed through the  elevator doors. Someone had walked across her grave, or so the saying went. She twisted her hair back and secured it with a clip. It was still wet from shower, and the sensation of damp tendrils against her face annoyed her.

She didn't realize until the doors closed that the elevator was going up instead of down. But it didn't matter. She'd let the elevator take her for a ride. One more brief diversion, courtesy of the universe. She'd be headed in the right direction soon enough.

Cora hummed softly to herself, a tuneless song, musing what might have happened had she stuck to her vow of "yes"-itude last night. After her date with James Bond, the show producer had Cora sign a pile of paperwork that she hadn't bothered to read. Then came the kicker. "Your flight for Cozumel leaves tomorrow morning at 7:30am sharp. Congratulations! You and Jamie were a match!"

Wait, what?

A month?

In Mexico?

With no one for company but him.

"No. Absolutely not."

Cora had drawn the line at last. She would say "yes" to a lot of things, but the universe had reached her outer limit. The TV production crew had flattered and cajoled, offered a hefty cash advance, and had an airline ticket issued in her name, but Cora stood firm. "Sorry. Nope. Not happening." Her foray into reality TV was a detour, not a destination. She'd agreed to lend an hour of her time, not a month.

The experience had occupied her thoughts all night. She'd checked out of her room, but the memory showed no signs of vacating the premises.

Her television debut could have gone much worse, she supposed. A momentary panic had overtaken her when the date began. She'd frozen, praying the producers would realize their mistake and cut things short before she humiliated herself entirely. She hated dating under normal circumstances, let alone publicly televised dates with men paid to look like James Bond for a living.

She had zero recollection of anything she said to him in the beginning. Pure word vomit. She hadn't settled down until they acknowledged the ridiculousness of the mismatch.

"We've got so much in common!"

"I can see why these crack matchmakers paired us."

Cora wondered if he knew she was a last minute sub. The only "matchmaker" who brought her to that cocktail table was pure random chance. The thought of it had helped her to relax, laughing with him at the sheer absurdity. It allowed her to dissociate just enough to function. She could watch herself interact with him from a safe distance, a viewer of the show rather than one of the participants.

She found it fascinating to observe the way he operated once she'd stepped outside her shell. How his every word and movement dripped with confidence. Suavity personified. He reminded her more of the fictional gentlemen who graced her nightly bedtime reading than anyone she'd encountered in reality. What must it be like to go through life with those looks and that much charm? Things must come to him so easily. He must be fighting off women like moths to a flame.

Or mosquitoes to a bug zapper.

He took the olive from her martini and put it in his mouth, all in one fluid motion, never breaking eye contact. Something in that simple gesture was going to haunt her. The memory made her warm inside all over again. The way his arm had moved. Slow and lazy. Daring her to stop him. 

She knew enough to be wary of men who moved like that. No telling what else they might steal.

Cora ducked her head and pretended to have something in her eye. She didn't want the strangers in the elevator to see the mischievous smile playing across her lips. 

Her expression faded into wistfulness as the elevator dinged. It was all but a memory now. She would never see his face again unless perhaps in a magazine someday, advertising olives, or toothpicks, or toxic masculinity. Or maybe (more than likely) in her dreams.

No, she couldn't risk a month in the company of a man like that. Not because he might seduce her. That much she would almost certainly enjoy. But attraction had a way of leading to attachment. Those inconvenient lovey-dovey feelings came with a price, and Cora would never willingly pay that price again. Not after the last time.

The L lit up on the elevator display. Cora shook herself, wishing for caffeine. "Wake up," she murmured as the elevator doors slid open.

The hotel lobby was empty, save for one green upholstered chair facing the elevator bay. Her James Bond impersonator looked like he could use some caffeine himself. He'd removed his jacket and folded it up for a pillow. He slouched sideways in the chair with his head lolling against it. Eyes shut, mouth open a tad. His hand rested on the handle of his suitcase.

It wasn't random chance that brought him to that chair, some instinct told her.

He looked different fast asleep. Not quite so captivating without the TV lights illuminating him. The bug zapper unplugged.

Cora tiptoed past, quiet as a moth beating its wings. But the clickety-clack of the suitcase gave her away.

***

Jamie's eyes popped open just in time. He'd nodded off. He almost missed her. His one remaining chance at salvation was rolling by without a backward glance.

He stumbled to his feet. "Oi! Hey! Hello!"

The nightmare of a night had finally given way to morning. Jamie had camped out in the lobby, hoping by some miracle to catch her before the flight to Mexico departed. If he could only talk to her, perhaps he could change her mind.

He hadn't had the chance last night. After the producers told him the good news, he'd stepped outside to phone his agent. She was gone by the time he returned.

His good news had evaporated with her.

The irony was, despite all his bellyaching, Jamie had been pleased in the end with the outcome of the casting. He'd been positively buzzing for a moment there. She had good banter. The best of the night by far. The smile she brought to his lips had been genuine, when she asked him what mischief James Bond and Miss Moneypenny got up to off-screen in the gaps between the scenes.

He knew the answer obviously. He'd massaged reality a bit when he told her the scene from Doctor No ended where it did. That's where it should have ended, if the filmmaker had any sense of romance. No matter. When it came to conversation, Jamie Bowen often had a better answer than the truth.

"Most people don't bother to imagine what characters get up to after the camera cuts."

"I do. Sometimes."

"So do I."

So much for Bond and Miss Moneypenny. He and Dr. Cora Glass were hopelessly incompatible in real life. They couldn't be more opposite. An optometrist... She fixed people's vision for a living, while he and his fashion industry brethren did their utmost to distort it.

It would make good television though. A clever casting choice, he had to admit. And if he were an honest man, he would also have to admit to the slinking shadow of a thought in a deeper part of his brain. He sensed an adventurous spirit beneath that freckled skin of hers. There might be a bit of fun in the gaps between their scenes, when the television broadcast faded to black.

She didn't return the sentiment, apparently.

"She was only here on a layover for one night," the producer told him apologetically. "Sorry to get your hopes up."

Sorry to put the final nail in your coffin, she might as well have said.

Herein lies the career of Jamie Bowen. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Better luck next time. RIP...

Jamie shook the thought out of his head. He wasn't in the ground just yet. Still one last chance to save himself. She had running shoes on her feet this morning, but he wouldn't let her get away without a chase. He caught up to her in two long strides. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

She stopped. Her shoulders rose and fell before she turned to face him. "Did you sleep all night in a hotel lobby?"

Jamie massaged the back of his neck. Not the most promising of starts. A crick that had formed in the muscle that attached his spine to his shoulders. "Sleep might be an overstatement." He slid his arms into his rumpled blazer, and pulled the lapels to straighten it. "Can I steal a moment of your time?"

"Sorry, I'm in a hurry. I have a flight to catch."

Jamie checked his watch. It wasn't too late. The flight to Cozumel left in an hour. That wasn't the flight she meant, but it was the one he intended to talk her onto if she would let him bend her ear.

The show hadn't replaced them. Merely gone with four couples instead of five. Jamie Bowen and  Cora Glass both had airline tickets issued in their names. If he could get her on the plane, Jamie felt certain he could get the production to include them.

They might still make it, if he could find a way to change her mind.

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